


the world didn't sing without you

by 4drinkamy



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-02-12 17:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12965121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4drinkamy/pseuds/4drinkamy
Summary: 1. jake comforting amy through a panic attack2. jake and amy as newly engaged kids3. wrapping gifts for christmas together4. a reunion after the safe house5. the honeymoon binder6. thanksgiving morning, 20187. post-first date post-prison8. jake and amy get ready for the high school reunion9. finally alone on their honeymoon





	1. darling, just hold my hand

**Author's Note:**

> yes the title is from the bop Darling, I Do from shrek. come yell at me about these dorks and feel free to send me prompts on tumblr @fourdrinkamy !!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS SAID:  
> amy has night terrors and jake helps her through it

Jake’s here. Amy’s heart is pounding, there’s an acute tightness in her chest, and for a good ten seconds or so she has no idea where she is, but she knows he’s here. Further proof that she’s the best detective in the NYPD.

It’s mainly because she can hear the direct evidence, his voice, soothing but barely masquerading his own worry, saying “I’m here” in amongst a panicked string of “Ames, babe, Ames – Amy,” but still, she’s claiming that title. Amy Santiago has trained herself to be the best and she can do anything and everything she wants to, even if sometimes she forgets the basics, such as how to breathe. She feels the gentle grip of Jake’s hands on her upper arms and rationality is telling her that that makes sense because he lives here and this is their bed and he’s her boyfriend. It’s enough circumstantial evidence to convince herself that she’s not having a heart attack, she’s not mortally wounded, _Jake’s_ not mortally wounded.

Oh, god. Her mind clouds with a crime scene of crimson blood, and Jake screaming, and there’s a gun in her hand, and her chest is heaving again. Amy can’t focus her thoughts on anything else which means even logic is abandoning her - this is a code red situation, a solid 9 on the Santiago Panic Scale, and -

“Hey, hey, shhh, babe,” Jake’s voice once again rudely interrupts her spiralling, but the way he’s gently rubbing her thigh is almost starting to convince her that it really was just a nightmare. “It was just a nightmare,” he confirms and manoeuvres to cradle her to his chest, which is okay because she kind of, sort of wants to be cradled right now. As much as Amy is a strong, independent woman, she can also admit that Jake possesses special boyfriend superpowers, the ability of the steady cadence of his heart to coax her back to reality and his grey t-shirt to absorb her tears before she even realises that she’s crying. His powers also extend to being a human space heater, and the proximity of his warm body against hers reminds her of how cold she really is, clad only in a tank top that is unhelpfully failing to thwart the anxiety-induced chills running down her spine. All compelling evidence that she’s not actually suffocating in the Florida heat anymore with a gun in her hand.

She focuses her everything on Jake and the art of deep breathing, his whispered coaching a needed reassurance that he’s really, truly here. He’s attempting to calm her with a one-handed massage of her back because his other is laced between hers and, for the most part, it’s succeeding.

“Breathe, Ames. I’m not going anywhere,” Jake says, because there he is with the superpowers again, inferring from how tightly she’s clutching at his t-shirt that her stupid nightmare was about him, one that she’s not ready to tell him about.

Carefully, eventually, Amy’s eyes flutter open and, through her haze of tears, she briefly glances at the clock which reads 4:12am, a mere 2 hours and 48 minutes before her first alarm will blare and Jake will groan dramatically into his pillow. She’ll brew two mugs of Cuban coffee and chastise him to get into the shower before he makes them both late and things will be normal.

“You- you can go back to sleep,” she trembles into his chest, inhaling the sweet, remedying scent of his shower gel mixed with their detergent and his inherent Jake-ness.

“Shhh,” Jake soothes, reverently stroking her upper arm– if you had told her eight years ago that she’d ever let Jacob Peralta shush her she would have personally filed a lawsuit against you for slander, but here and now, with his bedside lamp illuminating his face that she’ll later tell him to shave, Amy comfortably returns to the stillness of them laying together.

Their breathing synchronises, time slows, and Amy’s still curled into Jake and practically on top of him when he finally breaks the relative quiet that has enveloped the bedroom.

“10-4, detective?” he asks softly, kissing the top of her head.

“10-4.”


	2. marry you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jake and amy dancing around their kitchen to marry you by bruno mars because no one can convince me that this hasn't happened

Amy’s standing in their kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner because, in spite of her fiancé’s – _God, she’s going to have to get used to saying that_ \- protests, vegetables are essential to maintaining a healthy, balanced diet. To his reluctance, she had left said fiancé on their bed, blissed out from an afternoon of what could only gracefully be described as a delightful helping of newly-engaged boinking, sure that within minutes he’d have fallen asleep from exertion.

But if she’s learned anything from the past twenty-four hours, it’s that Jake Peralta still has the capacity to surprise her. He pads into the kitchen, phone in hand and sweatpant-clad.

“Hey, baby,” Jake wraps his arms round her waist from behind, and Amy has to restrain herself from physically melting to the ground at his use of the nickname. “I think I wanna marry you.”

Amy carries on chopping vegetables, barely masquerading her grin. She notices her ring catch the light of the overhead ceiling lamp.

“I thought we’d kind of already established that.”

“Just stating facts, Ames,” Jake says innocently against her neck. “And lyrics.”

His grip around her loosens and a part of Amy, the part that’s still mourning the time they lost to prison, immediately misses his physical touch. Before she can comprehend what’s happening, Jake’s fumbling with the Spotify app on his phone, and the Bluetooth speaker she bought him last Christmas sounds a song that she fails to recognise straight away.

She suspends her vegetable chopping to turn and look at him questionably.

“I’ve literally been wanting to have a pyjama dance party to this song with you since we moved in together,” Jake positively beams. “Maybe even before that,” he considers, leaving his phone on the counter and grabbing her hand instead.

Amy can’t help but blurt out a laugh as Jake forces her into a spin, because it’s so inherently _Jake_ to initiate ridiculous, spontaneous dance parties if it means interrupting otherwise mundane tasks. She’s missed this.

He grins at her. “No future wife of mine doesn’t know the words to this song, Ames. I know you do.”

She could pretend not to, just to challenge him for the fun of it, but for now, she thinks she’s had enough of trying to get the better of him. So she takes his other hand in hers and starts to jump around the kitchen vaguely to the rhythm with him, half-singing out of tune, half-shouting, _“Don’t say no, no, no, no, no!"_

It’s messy, it’s laughter, it’s them. Which means that it doesn’t take long for Amy’s enthusiasm and dancing skills to conspire and cause her to trip on Jake’s sockless feet, sending them both crashing in a heap to the floor with a combined shriek that even Charles couldn’t rival in pitch.

“Think we need might some more practise before we dance in public at the wedding,” Amy diagnoses, laughing against Jake’s t-shirt.

“ _Our_ wedding,” Jake specifies softly a moment later, pushing her hair behind her ear, and Amy thinks that if she wasn’t melting before, she most definitely is now. She plants a kiss against his already kiss-swollen lips to let him know so.

“I love you, Ames,” he says reverently, and simultaneously like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I love you, too,” Amy smiles, a familiar adoration and something more swelling in her chest. The song is still playing from the counter, and Amy would be anxious of a noise complaint, had she not been completely content listening to it as she twists the ring on her finger and their breathing starts to regulate.

It’s suddenly hitting her just how lucky she is to be lying on the filthy kitchen floor of the apartment she shares with her fiancé, this man who has chosen to be with her, who wants to build a life with her, and whom she loves so much. She’s not sure she can articulate that feeling yet, maybe she’ll save it for the vows, and so she looks up at him and feels the need to clarify, “There are only tears in my eyes because I was just dicing onions, by the way.”

“Whatever you say, babe,” Jake dismisses with a soft chuckle, standing up and offering his hand to pull her off the floor as the song winds to an end.

_“Is it the look in your eyes or is it this dancing juice?/ Who cares baby, I think I wanna marry you.”_


	3. stand brave, gift-giver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JAKE-PUREALTA SAID:  
> wrapping presents & ugly sweaters for the prompts
> 
> and i completely ignored the second half of this ask bc i'm the worst byeeee

Jake turns his key in the door, neatly hanging up his jacket on its designated hook and placing his sneakers on the so-called ‘Winter Shoes’ rack as directed by Amy’s label-maker. A warm blast of air greets him as he steps further into their apartment, his fine-tuned detective skills discerning that the thermostat is on at least three settings above what he would classify as necessary (yet what his perpetually freezing fiancée would still classify as snuggling-up-on-the-sofa temperature - not that he’s complaining). Jake had left Amy this morning serenely curled up under their comforter in bed; just about the only upside to getting called into the precinct last minute on what was supposed to their joint day off was that he got to wake up first for once and witness the softness of his future wife sleeping. He got to kiss her cheek and hear her half-asleep mutters goodbye and be reminded that this is his forever. Such 6am stillness contrasts starkly with the frustrated sigh he hears now from their living room, but that familiar and totally on brand exasperation is his forever too and he’s more than okay with that.

“Babe?” he questions vaguely in Amy’s direction.

She’s hidden from view by the sofa and kneeling on the carpeted floor surrounded by a clutter of half-wrapped presents, gift tags and an assorted tangle of ribbon. There are only two messy braids knotted in her hair so Jake figures all hope is not yet lost.

“Mhm?” Amy glances up momentarily surprised, clearly unaware of Jake’s entrance. It takes her approximately two seconds for her attention to be reclaimed by the long list of names scrawled on a scrap piece of paper resting on her knee.

“May I ask why there’s been an explosion at a gift-wrap factory in our living room?” Jake asks, eyeing the mess as if he were surveying a crime scene.

That’s enough to make Amy look up at him again, but this time to roll her eyes.

“I’m _trying_ to get all the presents ready in time for us going to visit my family,” she clarifies, and Jake realises he was warned of this wrapping chaos; it had been a full-blown event in their joint calendar for at least a month.

“I’ve been sat here for three hours but I’ve only managed my parents, your mom, five of my brothers, three of my sisters-in-law, two nieces, and three nephews,” Amy lists decisively, pointing to the mounting pile of neatly wrapped and colour co-ordinated presents in the corner of the room. Jake begins to utter how impressed he is at that, but she continues looking back down at her list, “So I still have Filip and Joel, their wives, four nieces - plus your dad if you’re buying him socks again- but somehow I’ve written Mateo’s name twice so I’m not even sure how many nephews there are to go and – “

“Ames, breathe,” Jake kneels on the floor beside her and places an arm round her shoulder. With surprisingly little resistance, Amy stoops to rest her head against his chest.

Her left hand fiddles with his police badge as Jake presses a kiss into her hair. “Sorry,” she mutters into his shirt. “I swear it’s literally impossible to be organised when it comes my family.”

“No need to apologise, babe, I was the one who was meant to stay at home and help you and –“ Jake’s eyes roam over Amy’s checklist discarded on the floor. “Isaac! That’s who your missing!”

“Oh my goodness, baby Isaac!” Amy immediately lifts her head and springs back into action mode, trying to find a stray gift tag. “Don’t you dare tell Luis I forgot about his kid, Jake. Worst aunt ever,” she chides herself as she writes her nephew’s name cursively on a spare tag. Jake swears she could be a calligrapher.

“Ames, you know these kids are insanely lucky to have you as their aunt,” Jake reassures, rubbing her back gently with one hand. “Not your fault your nieces and nephews total like a million.”

At that, Amy smiles at him properly for the first time since he walked in the door. “There are only thirteen of them,” she corrects, “and they’re _our_ nieces and nephews. _Tio Jake._ ” She punctuates her statement with a quick peck on his lips.

Jake can’t help himself but smile back at Amy, his eyes softening in awe of the fact that this woman, on top of everything else, has already given him such a big, crazy awesome family. He still can’t quite comprehend how he managed to get this lucky. 

Amy interrupts his reverie with a mischievous grin and throws herself back into her military operation. “Now, I think Joel’s kids should have the red ribbon and Filip’s the green, although there’s less than a metre left of it so you’re going to have to cut it sparingly –“

It takes another hour and forty minutes and two glasses of red wine each, but eventually Jake and Amy, equal parts triumphant and exhausted, lounge on the floor against the edge of the sofa, admiring the nine neat piles of presents showcased in the corner of the room.

“Another win for Team Santiago-Peralta,” Jake announces, offering his hand for a high five. Amy gladly accepts, before wrapping an arm across his stomach and snuggling into him.

“Thank you for helping, babe,” Amy says, and Jake rubs her arm in acknowledgement.

With his free hand, he thumbs Amy’s list (with all the names now scored off) and muses “At some point, this list is going to get even longer.”

Amy looks at him with genuine alarm, the stress braids still tangled in her hair. “I honestly don’t think that’s possible, Jake.”

“You know,” he nudges her gently, smiling. “When our kids are thrown in the mix.”

“Oh god. Gift wrapping will have to be a two-day event on the calendar.”


	4. i have dreamed that your arms are lovely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked: Hello kisses please!!
> 
> Hello kisses: After long periods apart, these can include A picking up B and spinning them around. Fingers pressing into cheeks, palms cupping necks, and breathless laughs when they finally come up for air.

If you had told Jake five years ago at Captain Holt’s birthday party that Kevin Cozner had the capacity to be so cool so as to single-handedly take down the head of the most notorious crime family in New York he would have straight-up laughed in your face. If you had told that same Jake that he would be engaged to be married to _Amy Santiago_ , he would have told you to stop wasting his time with false statements because he’s very much pre-occupied in trying to impress said Kev and prove to Holt that his husband likes him, thank you very much.

Fast forward and by some weird, celestial force of the universe (Gina would know, he thinks), those two facts are both, indeed, facts. And after more than eight weeks cooped up on the floor with Kevin in the safe house, after more than eight weeks devoid of even a text from his fiancé, Jake is still a bit disorientated as to the reality of it all.

He walks up the stairs to his and Amy’s apartment – _God_ , he’s missed actually walking up stairs as opposed to army crawling up them, as per the Captain’s orders – grateful that his mini-reunion with Amy isn’t going to involve her witnessing him in his Weird Pervert undercover costume; she’s really been through enough already. Within minutes of Kevin’s Nic-Cage-action-movie level entrance, the backup team had arrived to properly arrest Seamus and escort them all back to the safe hell-house to change and pick up their belongings. Jake had only half-heartedly tuned in to Holt’s initial debriefing in the car, his mind pre-occupied by the tantalizing thought of being able to stand in his own apartment in daylight, a thought eclipsed only by that of seeing Amy again. Amy. Her Thursday shifts always end at 6pm, leading his refined detective skills to discern that she is absolutely going to be behind their apartment door in all her post-9-hours-in-a-police-precinct beauty when he opens it. That and the fact that he’s been texting her non-stop since he got his phone back and they agreed to meet at home.

Jake turns the key in the lock and when the door opens he’s immediately greeted with a blast of hot air, because of course Amy’s had the thermostat at a higher setting while he’s been away. She’s sitting at dining table on her laptop in her yoga pants and his hoodie, but she immediately lifts her head upon hearing Jake enter (surely the reflex skills of only the NYPD’s best detective), and then she’s making her way towards him with an unadulterated smile on her face, and _oh, he’s missed her_.

“Hey, babe,” she grins, moving to wrap her arms round his neck the second his black duffel hits the floor.

“Hey, babe,” he repeats as his hands instinctively find her waist to hold her close to him.

When she looks up at him, it’s almost with marvel, and when she speaks again, her voice is laced with awe and tenderness and a thousand other sweet things, “You’re finally home.”

At that, Jake kisses her, softly at first but deepening it as soon as the familiarly of it all, and the realisation that he hasn’t kissed her out-with Kevin’s presence in over two months, impels him to do so. After a beat, Amy pulls away slightly to teasingly laugh at his eagerness, and the sudden urge to pick her up a spin her round in order to elicit more of her giggling – one of his all-time favourite sounds in the world - overwhelms him. The reality earns him not only that, but also a soft punch to his shoulder and a cry to put her down before they both collapse on the floor, so triple worth it.

When their laughter subsides, he pulls her in for hug and her head comes to rest against his chest. “I missed you so freaking much, Ames.”

“I missed you too, Pineapples,” her voice muffled by his flannel. “So much.”

They stand like that in the entryway to their apartment, just revelling in the other’s presence, for a quiet moment, before Jake interrupts it as his hands drift down to find her butt because, well, he’s missed it and, what’s more, he loves it. “Y’know, seriously, I never want to live with anyone else but you and your butt again,” he tells her sincerely, not missing the opportunity to gently squeeze it (for emphasis, of course), before casually ( _casually!_ ) adding on reflection, “Mm, and maybe our future kids.”

Amy lifts her head to grin up at him again, and then she’s kissing him, because they’re back on track to being together for the rest of their lives and to creating a family of their own and because that forever really isn’t so far away. “I love you, Jake.”

“I love you too,” he smiles at her, and then raises a suggestive eyebrow. “You think we could make a start on baby-making but with protection in our room?”

Amy pretends to think about his proposition and, for a second, Jake thinks that that line actually worked on her. But then she grins at the hopeful look on his face and says, “Mm, I think we can definitely arrange that after dinner, babe,” before pressing a quick, teasing peck to his lips. “But first, I need you to tell me everything new you learned about Kevin.”


	5. send us to perfect places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked: Hi could you pretty please write after sex kisses (for the kiss prompts)
> 
> AKA a fic about jake and amy's honeymoon binder

A final, muffled groan escapes Jake’s mouth into the crook of Amy’s shoulder, before he all but collapses against her breathlessly, devoid of the mental ability to utter a coherent word. She holds the back of his head against her neck, gently running one hand through his soft curls while the other strokes his back. For the third time that afternoon (it’s their _honeymoon_ ) the universe stills for a moment, a moment where everything’s quiet and it feels like it’s just them in the entire world, two horndogs exhausted and spent.

Amy presses a kiss to Jake’s shoulder. “You okay, babe?”

“Ames, that was awesome,” Jake lifts his head from the comfort of his wife’s neck to kiss her again, because kissing her is something he will never tire of doing. “You’re awesome.”

She giggles at that – he has a tendency to reaffirm her awesomeness after sex – before her gaze scrutinises his beaming expression more thoroughly. “So…that stays in The Binder?”

“Oh, hell yeah.”

Amy positively grins and pulls him down to kiss him one more time. He rests his forehead against hers as he gently rocks into her one, two more times before shifting his weight and pulling out of her, allowing her to manoeuvre and reach for what she wants most in this moment, her prized binder. She tosses him their designated sex towel (the poor suite cleaners Amy thinks to herself) as she props herself against the headboard and excitedly hauls The Binder into her lap.

“I still can’t believe we had to pay for extra luggage allowance just so you could bring The Binder,” Jake muses as he makes a half-hearted effort to clean himself up. Before Amy’s face can morph into an offended Santiago Frown, he grins up at her and adds, “Worth it.”

“Well, if The Binder’s anything to go by – and it is,” she confirms at him pointedly, as if he, the spouse of Amy Santiago, would ever doubt its authority, “then we’re really nailing this whole honeymoon so far, and we’re only three days in.”

“‘Nailing this whole honeymoon’: title of our sex tape!” Amy struggles to masquerade a smile at a joke she should really be tired of by now, yet when she gauges the enthusiasm on his face she can’t not accept his high five.

Jake sets the towel aside and curls up against his beautiful, very naked wife, throwing an arm around her waist and angling himself so that he, too, can be privy to the all-important, all-knowing pages of The Binder. Amy categorically beams with pride as she flicks through the pages of subsection ‘Sexy Timez’ – with a z, naturally – admiring everything they’ve conscientiously achieved over the past few days. As Amy’s explained to Jake about three times already today alone, as with every good and professional binder, there’s a key, a system of organisation, and it begins with simple ticks, to indicate that they’ve tried something. Then there’s a rating system of enjoyment, with 10 being the best at _holy shit_ I see stars pleasure, followed by space for marginalia on the side, in which notes and improvements for next time can be written – Santiago style.

Thus far, the new lingerie she bought especially for the honeymoon has proven to be a resounding success – even if she was only wearing it for less than a minute before Jake tore it off her, he assured her he rated it a ten. She’s tried two new flavours of lube (Passion-fruit earned a higher rating than Candy Floss by far) and, just today, they’ve attempted an ambitious seven (and a half) new positions. Some were more exhausting than others, some required The Binder to be consulted mid-boinking just to double-check they were doing it right, and one Jake swore you needed to be a qualified yoga instructor to be flexible enough to do it.

Amy reaches for the pen on her nightstand and diligently ticks one of the latest positions they’ve tried from a Cosmo article that she found online and printed out.

“Hmm, what we thinking for this one?” her pen hovers over the rating box.

“Uh, a solid 7,” Jake says matter-of-factly. “I prefer seeing your face more. And your boobs.”

Amy laughs as he presses a kiss to her side; the fact that he takes The Binder seriously is almost as much of a turn on as The Binder itself. She thumbs her way through the pages trying to find everything new to update from their latest Afternoon Delight session.

“Y’know,” Jake starts kissing the underside of her left breast. “I came across something on page 53 earlier that looked like it could be kinda fun.”

Amy sets aside her pen and raises an eyebrow at him suggestively, “Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm. And it didn’t involve yoga.”

“I think I know what you’re talking about,” she lowers her voice, placing The Binder on to the nightstand (she’s not going to let such a sacred text fall to the floor) and bringing her husband up for a kiss. “But if we’re going to go again I need food. Lots of it. And I need to pee because I am not getting a UTI on our honeymoon.”

“Amy Peralta, you sure know how to seduce me.”

“Jacob Santiago, you wouldn’t have it any other way.”


	6. thank u, next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”

“Babe,” Amy ungracefully shoves her husband’s shoulder, earning her a rough-with-sleep groan. Without opening his eyes, he pulls their comforter higher over his body and buries his face further into his pillow. Amy rolls her eyes in annoyance.

“Jake, wake up,” she tries again firmly, knowing full well that if she didn’t interrupt him, he’d probably be out like light until noon. She’d happily indulge in a lie in with him on any other day off, stealing the warmth of his body as the sun filters in through the curtains, but today she has other priorities.

“Jacob, I’m being serious. You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”

“Wha’?” Jake mumbles into his pillow without moving an inch.

“Happy Thanksgiving to you, too. C’mon, we need to get started on prep. It’s already 7am.” In t-minus seven hours, Jake’s parents and three of Amy’s brothers with their partners and children will start piling into their Brooklyn apartment that is theoretically far too small for so many people to eat Thanksgiving dinner.  Over the last two weeks, Amy’s managed to successfully channel all her stress into preparing for this one meal.

“Ten more minutes,” Jake’s half-asleep brain tries to negotiate, but Amy’s having none of it.

“Nope, Peralta, we have so much to do. I’m not letting your lazy butt ruin my schedule.”

“But we already made the apple pie and pumpkin pie yester-“ Jake begins to protest.

“Yeah, and today we have to cook an entire turkey, mash the potatoes, bake the stuffing, make the green bean, the winter squash and the sweet potato casseroles because Tony insists on all three, and make sure everything else is defrosted in time. _And_ I have to set the table nicely and put make up on.” Amy folds her arms. Not that Jake can tell because he still has his back facing her pretending to be asleep.

“Five more minutes then,” he huffs into his pillow and, not for the first time, Amy realises that sometimes there are actually downsides to falling in love with and agreeing to spend the rest of your life with someone who is just as stubborn as you are.

Deciding that her firm Sergeant Santiago approach isn’t going anywhere and knowing that getting mad at Jake when she does truly need his help is only going to exacerbate her stress, she undoes a button on her pyjama top with a different tactic in mind. Improvise, adapt, overcome - she’s not above using a little seduction to get her husband to peel potatoes.

“Morning, baby,” Amy tries again, climbing on to the bed.

At her sudden change in tone, Jake lowers the sheets a little and turns on his back out of curiosity. Her new strategy is working already.

Amy straddles his lower torso over the comforter, kissing his confused face sloppily and leaning down so that her boobs are most definitely in his face. He groans appreciatively at the sight before him, reaching out to grope one clumsily and instinctively. Shifting her weight, she grabs his wrist before he can do so and raises her eyebrows with a smirk.

“Not so asleep then after all, huh Peralta?”

“Ames…” he whines, his eyebrows knitted in a frown. “You’re so sneaky.”

“All’s fair in love and war when we have to cook for thirteen people, babe.”

Jake bites his lip and rubs her upper thigh, his fingers fiddling with the hem of her pyjama shirt that’s riding up. “Okay, instead of five minutes of sleeping, how about three minutes of…other stuff? I promise to make it quick…”

He looks up at her hopefully, and the way his bedhead curls are stuck up in all different directions and both his hands sit firmly gently massaging her hips, Amy’s almost tempted. She glances at the clock – 7:03am – and leans down again to kiss him, with just enough enthusiastic tongue to make him think he’s won.

Now three entire minutes behind schedule, she swiftly swings herself off him and stands to readjust her shirt, pulling the covers down dramatically.

“If we get everything prepped by 12, I may have scheduled in some time in between turkey basting and casserole baking for an extra long combined shower,” she announces with a smirk, swaying her hips slightly as she walks out of their bedroom.

Jake leaps out of bed and runs to the kitchen after her, not needing a specific day of the year to be thankful that Amy Santiago is his wife.


	7. this rain will wash away what's past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt 21: “we’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?”

“I told you we should’ve taken a cab home, Jake,” Amy huddles against her boyfriend under the makeshift shelter of a random shop’s doorway, grimacing at the pouring rain. She would have rather their first date after Jake’s release from prison (a meal at their favourite Italian restaurant) didn’t end in a sudden thunderstorm, but mostly she’s just grateful that she can go out for dinner with him again at all. It’s so divinely, extraordinarily, amazingly noice having him back and being in his arms.

“Nonsense, Santiago. It’s only like four more blocks away, we can just leg it,” he says with his trademark optimism. She’s missed that – and every single thing about him, really – but out of stubbornness she can’t possibly let him know that when he’s about to force her to walk in the freezing rain in heels and an expensive dress. 

“If this dress gets ruined, I’m blaming you.” 

“Well, you look so hot in it I’m probably going to break the zipper trying to get it off later anyway…” he grins at her and she rolls her eyes fondly. It’s a reflex that will never go away no matter how many weeks they’re apart.

“I know you’re being sweet but seriously this is a nice dress and I want to be able to wear it again.”

“On future date nights?”

Amy face softens at the hopefulness in his eyes. “Yeah, on future date nights.” A whole lifetime of them, she thinks, and her heart warms at the thought. “Because we can do that now.” Amy kisses his cheek softly, because she can also that whenever she wants to too.

“Hells yeah, we can. I’m going to continue to date the crap out of you, Ames, and take you out on all the dates we missed in the last two months.” Jake smiles at her, and love radiates from the kindness in his eyes. “Here, take my jacket.”

“Are you sure?” Amy asks, even though he’s already taking it off and draping it over her shoulders. “My dream man”

“I know,” he says simply, and underlying the slight cockiness in his tone is the acknowledgment that they both know they’re it for one another (a fact that Amy thinks they’ve known long before prison was in the picture).

“M’lady?” Jake steps out from the doorway and dramatically offers her his hand, his shirt already completely saturated with rainwater. As soon as Amy takes it, he starts jogging down the street with her in tow, completely ignorant of the pain of running in heels.

Luckily, it’s a pace which lasts all of two blocks. “Babe, why d’you stop?” Amy looks up at him as she tries to catch her breath. Ever since Jake had come home slightly more toned (a sight she has definitely appreciated), she’d assumed his fitness had actually improved in the months he’d been away.

“No reason,” he remarks, reaching out his free hand to feel the weight of the raindrops.

“We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?”

Jake shrugs, and his wet curls make him look like a stupidly cute puppy. “Just kinda hit me that there aren’t many thunderstorms to go out in, y’know, back in South Carolina. I’ve missed lots of things.”

She still looks a bit confused so he squeezes her hand gently. “Don’t worry, I still missed you the most.” In the days that he’s been back, they are still far from done being cheesy with each other at any opportunity.

“If you really missed me, you would take me back to our warm, dry apartment with our big, comfortable bed and I could show you how much I’ve missed you before we both catch a cold.” Her attempt at a sexy voice is overwhelmed by a rumble of thunder, but Jake of course still hears the message loud and clear.

His eyes widen and he immediately lets go of her hand, turning and crouching to encourage her to piggyback ride the rest of the way. She laughs as she hoists herself on his back, glad to take the weight off her damn heels (she’s definitely going to get him to massage her feet later).

“10-4, babe,” he says, picking up his pace with a new wave of enthusiasm. “I definitely missed our bed a thousand times more than the stupid rain.”


	8. a night to remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked: Can you write a bit about Jake and Amy in those 90’s outfits. That pic with and their arms around each other is literally destroying me.

“You’re missing your nose ring, babe,” Amy teases as she watches her husband step into the ridiculously oversized jeans he thrifted for the occasion.

He turns to frown at her with mock offence, and somehow he looks even younger than usual. (It’s kind of embarrassing how much this 90s look is working for her.) “Hey, we said that was a secret just between us never to be spoken of again!”

“I’m just saying,” Amy smirks, tightening the scrunchie in her hair in the mirror. “Will your high school friends even recognise you without it?”

“Shut up. It was cool at the time, plus I’d read somewhere that you distract people from features you don’t like by piercing them.”

“Mm, that sounds like something a piercer would say to sell you piercings. And I love your nose, babe.”

“Whatever, smorty-pants,” Jake pads over to their chest of drawers, wrapping his arms around her from behind and resting his head on her shoulder. He looks at them in the mirror, taking in her choker, the scrunchies, the over-the-top make up. “You look stupid cute, by the way. I can’t wait for everyone to see I have the cutest, hottest wife in the entire world.”

Amy grins and brings her left hand up to stroke his cheek, “We would have made a cute high school couple, right?”

“A nerd and a jock. We would’ve played like a romcom.”

“Jake…” she laughs, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

“Fine. A nerd and a complete dork.” He kisses her neck so not to look her in the eyes as he admits that, and her heart flutters just a little.

“You’re still a dork, you know.”

“And you’re still the nerdiest person I know.”

“Guess we’re a pretty good match then,” Amy muses, her hands gently squeezing Jake’s arms.

“Mhm. Wish I could go back and tell high school Jake not to bother embarrassing himself so much because in the end it all works out and he marries his dream girl.”

“I’d tell high school Amy to keep ignoring boys because she’s right and school is more important.”

“About that…” Jake’s hand finds the hem of her dress and he teasingly lifts it up as his lips press kisses to her jawline. “This entire outfit is driving me crazy.”

Amy narrows her eyes at her husband in the mirror but he’s too distracted to notice. As soon as his other hand moves to cup her breast over the dress, she knows she’s fighting a losing battle. She glances at the clock on Jake’s side of the bed.

“Fine, just a - uh - a quick one. We are not being late for school.”

Jake grins against her neck and makes efficient work of pulling down her tights. “High school Jake would never in a million years dream of it.”


	9. darling, stand by me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked: jake is upset about holt calling him selfish, amy comforts him

“Thanks for sticking up for me earlier, babe,” Jake snakes his arm around Amy’s naked torso and squeezes her waist gently. It’s been four hours since Holt left the resort for the airport - four hours (spent mainly in bed) of pure, uninterrupted newlywed bliss - and it finally feels like they’re the only two people in the entire world. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you yell at the Captain like that before.”

“I’m glad I did, Holt was so out of line to call you selfish,” Amy shakes her head against her pillow, recalling her rather unprecedented outburst. She kind of wishes she hadn’t been wearing a Die Hard sexcapade costume, but mostly she’s proud of herself. She turns her head to face Jake snuggled into her side, her left hand coming to affectionately run through his stupidly cute curls. “And I’m always going to stick up for you, Jake, you’re my husband. We’re a team, right?”

He grins up at her, “We’re the best team ever, and you know I’ve always got your back too.” He reaches to kiss her cheek, before lazily settling back down against her shoulder. “You’re my wife.”

“See? Least selfish person ever. You always have the entire squad’s back and you’ve always done so much for me: moving in to our apartment, supporting my promotion, eating more vegetables…”

“You really won the lottery with me, huh?”

“Okay, mister, don’t get ahead of yourself,” Amy chides softly, playfully smacking his head. “But, yeah, maybe I did.”

Jake shifts so that he’s on top of her, their naked bodies pressed together, and he kisses her lips for the millionth time that afternoon, smiling into it.

“Mm, I guess I am kinda selfish,” he leans back slightly and bites his lip, looking up to the ceiling in mock contemplation.

Amy raises her eyebrow. “How come?”

“I get to keep you all to myself. Like, by law, no one else gets to kiss you ever.”

She laughs and brings her right hand to his left to twirl his wedding ring. “That’s perfectly fine by me, Peralta. You’re all mine too and I really don’t feel like sharing.” They grin at each other, like only two ridiculously in love people finally alone on their honeymoon would grin.

“I love you, Ames.”

“I love you too, babe.”

Jake leans down to kiss her again, her mouth parting immediately to deepen the kiss. They fall into their familiar rhythm, gently grinding against each other, their hands roaming.

“It was so hot, y'know,” he mumbles against Amy’s lips after a few minutes, trying to regain his breath. “You yelling at our boss in the fantasy costume of my dreams.”

Amy can’t help but rake her hand through his gorgeous curls again. “Mm, hot enough for round 5?”

“You’re keeping count?”

“Maybe. I want to record it in the honeymoon binder later because, y'know, I want to remember everything about this. I’ve never been happier.”

“You’re such a dork,” Jake shakes his head with a smile, before leaning down to kiss her neck. “And I’ve never been happier either.”


End file.
